Over a Glass of Beer
by Butcher of Sligo
Summary: Daisy and Tom were sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table, with a plate of cold fried chicken between them, and two bottles of ale..." This story represents the untold events happening across the gap into what was said over a glass of beer. D


Creative Assignment

Within the stately manor all was warm and quiet, remnants of the tenacious and overbearing heat of the day. The windows, still drawn and open in an attempt to keep the manor itself from overheating, held an inauspicious glow, as though someone was waiting expectantly in the dead of the night. The dust motes in the air still lingered with the buzz and energy of the day, floating wistfully on, immune to the constant pull of warm and cold. The presence of life was in the air as well, dulled now by the hand of sleep – of warm, care-free lives in their warm, crease-free sheets – though the essence of _living_ remained curiously absent.

Outside, the night had already laid claim to the land and had brought with it a cool and ostentatious peace from the harshness of the sun. The trees and plants, wilted from the weight and troubles of the day, seemed to spring up from their roots, pert and alert and content to just wait, knowing the overbearing ferocity of the sun would come back to take it all away again. Above even this lay the moon, a bright and watchful eye amidst the semi-darkness, as if waiting for something – waiting for something amidst the endless stretch of green.

The crunch of gravel broke the calm as a car traveled its way up to the manor, idled, then was still, the slam of a door offering up a crisp crescendo to the drumbeat rhythm of the motor. A few voices, brisk and hushed, could be heard even from within the house. The sound of footsteps followed and was continued by the sharp turning of a key. The door opened without a squeak, letting in no comforting light into the darkened house; only the harsh outline of a man, illuminated in cool moonlight.

"Oh Tom dear you're home!" came a voice, high and shrill and full of joy. "Oh how I've been waiting for you so very very long." She seemed to come out of the shadows, illuminated in the night. Putting her arms around Tom's neck she kissed him lightly on his neck, the smile just wide enough to hide the puff of red under her cheeks.

"So you've come back to me it seems," he said, stiff and unmoving. Beside him his hand twitched, wanting to move, wanting to do something but was still, as it always was around her. "How could you do that to me Daisy? In front of Jordan – in front of Nick?" His voice was grave and weighted down, as if other matters were more pressing than the resurrection of their marriage.

"Why darling, I – don't know what you mean," she said, her voice faltering now.

"Don't know what I me – don't know what I mean?" he said, his voice raising. "Of course you know what I mean! How could you have been persuaded by that two-bit mongrel? Oxford, the war, his love for you – all as fake as that mansion he has! Did you see what the devil was wearing? A goddamn pink suit!

"Science dictates that us, as _agrarians _– "

"Oh you can stop it with the science talk Tom," she said, pulling away from her embrace. A hint of something else – something witty and vicious – lay hidden in her retort. "How could _I_ in front of Jordan and Nick? How could _you_ with your talk of mistresses and car deals and-and-and – and at lunch of all things! You hulking brute, are we able to settle down without you causing another one of your – your – your sprees?" The incessant chime in her voice seemed full to bursting, as if any moment now the pop of a cork would lay way to an overflowing expense of the finest champagne.

Tom remained deathly still, as if struck by something. "She's dead," he muttered, the vague outline of a sniffle within the voice. "She's dead and the blasted swindler just drove away with you! You didn't even stop him, did you? You couldn't even the turn the wheel or nothing! We saw her on our way home. The whole place was a wreck! How –

"How could you do that that to me in front of Nick and Jordan, Daisy?" He uttered his final question at last. Illuminated though she was, his eyes were fixated on the floorboards, dark still with his outline.

Reluctantly taking Tom by the arm she edged him over to the kitchen where she had laid out a platter of chicken and ale, cold from its stay in the refrigerator. The dinner was poor, she knew, but she did not have the means to cook it.

"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about Tom? About the woman you were talking to on the phone?" she said, her courage once again lost, the fake chivalry she had built up all-but gone now.

"And you said you loved me, you hulking brute," she added with none of the jubilance in her voice, lips puffed to a pout.

"No, no," said Tom, his eyes picking up to look at her again. The way she was sitting, with the light against her and the open pantry window blowing lightly across her loose dress – she was like a portrait. A true-blue portrait, framed in gold.

"That's not what I meant. You need to listen to me sometimes goddamn it! What I mean to say is Gatsby killed a woman today. She was killed and maimed and slaughtered by that circus wagon – by that death car of his! He headed right for her – and you couldn't turn the wheel or nothing."

Placing his hand upon hers, he added gravely, "He is going to rot. He is going to get caught for this heinous crime of his, and he is going to _rot_ in jail. But you? You don't deserve that Daisy. You don't deserve to have your life to be tainted by his fiendish schemes and his brutish lies. Hell, he was probably ordered by Wolfsheim or someone to run her over on the way back, the way he operates!"

"Yes... Yes of course!" said Daisy, eyes lifting up as well. "I'm p-paralyzed with fear Tom. Do you really think Gatsby...?"

"Of course Daisy!" he exclaimed with the usual bravado in his voice. "Who else could do such a crime and walk away? Why, I even heard he killed a man – a woman would be far easier, wouldn't you say? All the studies say so at least.

"The only problem is... what if he tells the cops it was you? God knows someone like him has got connections – and knowing his pea-brained mind he would tattle on you in an instant if there were any signs of trouble! It would be all over the _Town Tattle_ for sure."

"Oh of course," said Daisy, agreeing with him with only the smallest amount of hesitance. "But what do you propose we do? I'm terrified Tom!"

He squeezed her hand comfortingly, with barely a crack in the bones to be heard.

"Let us run away together Daisy. Let's leave the hustle and bustle of this city, at least for now. Maybe to Boston, or Philadelphia – somewhere new and exciting.

"At least for now," he repeated with confidence.

"Oh that would be absolutely grand! I've never been to a place like Boston before. Oh it would be ever-so nice to just get away from it all with you again Tom." Her voice, crisp, bright, and reassured, seemed to revitalize any doubts within Tom's mind.

"Yes, we certainly do need a vacation from all this, don't we? Tomorrow night then – it's decided. We shall tell everyone in the morning. No phone calls to friends, no notice, no nothing. Just up and leave.

"Why, you even have your bags packed and everything." His eyes pointed to the corner of the living room where, placed precariously at the edge of the couch, three suitcases filled with clothes and the like were ready to be picked up.

"Yes of course," she said without a hint of coyness in her voice, "I've been ready for a break now for days and days."

"Days and days," he repeated. "Years, even."

Above them the moon twinkled brightly then was gone, hidden in the shadow of a cloud, dark and gray and billowing in the night. The chill deepened, and the plants and trees rustled and shivered; but inside, the house was as warm as ever.


End file.
